OCTOBER 12, 1998:
Hollywood churns out many movies about small-town living. The
mainstream film community seems obsessed with towns that have
only one Wal-Mart. Perhaps it's because the denizens of small
towns, particularly those of the white trash variety, seem like
easy targets; their ranks are not sufficient enough to fight back.

Clay Pigeons is set in small-town Montana. The locals drink,
shoot guns, gossip and do other stereotypical small-town activities.
One such local, Earl, has learned that his best friend, Clay (Joaquin
Phoenix), has been fooling around with his wife. Earl confronts
Clay; the two have it out over a bunch of beers, and Earl winds
up dead. Clay seeks help from Earl's wife, Amanda (Georgina Cates)--the
bitchiest femme fatale you'll ever see--only to find her completely
unwilling to help. She still wants Clay to visit for their weekly
trysts, however. Clay doesn't want a murder rap; Amanda doesn't
want people to talk; Clay is forced to dispose of his friend's
body.

Fast forward a bit and enter Lester Long (Vince Vaughn), a smooth-talking
cowboy from out of town. Vince Vaughn's arrival 30 minutes into
the picture injects some much-needed life. In fact, he steals
every scene he's in. Without spoiling too much of the plot, Clay
and Lester become fast friends and bodies begin piling up around
them. The FBI intervenes and Janeane Garofalo, miscast as one
of the agents, shows up midway into the film to do her usual smirking,
"I'm-so-ironic" thing. Charming as she can be sometimes,
here she's a one-trick pony. Clay becomes the prime suspect in
a whole slew of murders, and the FBI and local sheriff investigate.
Meanwhile, Lester cavorts with every girl in town. The plot
takes enough twists and turns to retain interest, but just
barely.

One thing Clay Pigeons has going for it is its slowly building
momentum. The first 20 minutes of the film seem stilted and dull.
Gradually, though, as the story gets deeper into small-town, Twin
Peaks-style weirdness, the viewer is sucked in. Weird does
not always equal funny, however, and for a dark comedy (as the
film is billed), there aren't many laughs. Aside from a few clever
lines from Lester, Clay Pigeons is gloomy, violent and
not for all tastes. In more than one scene, for example, a woman
is graphically murdered while having sex.

Phoenix, who may be a recent graduate of the Harrison Ford School
of Acting, deadpans his way through the movie with odd charisma.
Vaughn is his opposite, all swagger and charm and a forced, over-the-top
giggle. As foils for one another, the two leads work well, and
their strong performances carry the plot over its frequent speed
bumps.

First-time feature film director David Dobkin uses a few too many
tricks from his days making music videos: quick cutting and zooms
that seem incongruous with the pace of the film. The screenplay
by Matt Healy (another first-timer)--which won an annual contest
from The Writer's Market, an L.A.-based screenwriting group--is
self-conscious and inconsistent. The filmmakers never decide whether
they're aiming for a cinéma vérité
portrayal of small town life or poking fun at it. And that's what
Clay Pigeons is--a film that can't make up its mind, and
a film that will give viewers trouble making up theirs.